Dedicated To the
Sensible, Reasonable, Affable, Amiable, Acceptable,
minded, Honourable, in VVit, Iudgement, and Vnderstanding Able, Robert
Rugge Gentleman, Reare Adelantado of the Holy Iland, the Fairne, and
the Staples, on the Coast of Northumbria.
No
hanging Tap'strie, Quilt, or Couerlet,
This dedication of my wit could get:
No Mattresse, Blanket, Sheet, or Featherbed,
Could haue these labours of my working head:
But (cold by nature) from my Nurses dugge,
My inclination still hath lou'd a Rugge:
Which makes my thankefull Muse thus bold to be,
To consecrate this worthlesse worth to thee:
Thou that within those happy Iles doest bide,
Which Neptunes waues doe from our Land diuide,
Where in the Holy Iland stands a Fort
That can defend, and iniuries retort:
That doth command a goodly Hauen nigh,
Wherein a hundred ships may safely lye:
Thou in the
Fairne and Staples bearst such sway,
That all the dwellers there doe thee obey:
Where Fowle are all thy faire inhabitants,
Where thou (Commander of the Cormorants)
Grand Gouernour of Guls, of Geese and Ganders,
O'r whom thou art none of the least Commanders:
Whereas sometimes thou canst not stirre thy legs,
But thou must tread on tributary egs:
For they like honest, true, plaine-dealing folkes,
Pay thee the custome of their whites and yolkes,
Which to thy friends oft-times transported be,
As late thou sentst a barrell-full to me:
And in requitall to so good a friend,
This Prison, and this Hanging here I send.
Because within the
Fairne and Staples too,
The dwellers doe as they doe please to doe
Their pride and lust, their stealing and their treason,
Is all imputed to their want of reason:
I therefore haue made bold to send thee this,
To shew them what a Iayle and Hanging is.
Thou hast from Hermes suck'd the Quintessence
Of quicke Inuention, and of Eloquence:
And thou so well doest loue good wittie Bookes,
That makes thee like Apollo in thy lookes:
For nature hath thy visage so much grac'd,
That there's the ensigne of true friendship plac'd.
A chaulkie face, that's like a pewter spoone,
Or buttermilke, or greene cheese, or the moone,
Are either such as kill themselues with care,
Or hide-bound miserable wretches are.
Giue me the man, whose colour and prospect,
Like Titan when it doth on gold reflect;
And if his purse be equall to his will,
Hee'l then be frolicke, free, and iouiall still:
And such a one (my worthy friend) art thou,
To whom I dedicate this Pamphlet now;
And I implore the Heau'ns to proue so kinde,
To keepe thy state according to thy minde.
Yours with my best wishes, Iohn Taylor.
